


Down here in hell (with you)

by pernickety



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, Drug Use, F/M, M/M, Sebastian has sexual relations with that woman, Sebastian kills and really enjoys it, Sebastian's POV, The Plot Thickens, dubcon, jim frustrates sebastian a lot, mormor, mormor fic, murder and torture and sex oh my, murderers murdering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-11
Updated: 2014-07-06
Packaged: 2018-02-04 07:06:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1770091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pernickety/pseuds/pernickety
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim loves to mess with Sebastian. Sebastian is constantly getting frustrated and cockblocked and starts to wonder why he puts up with it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Morocco

The scope of Sebastian's rifle is trained on the mark for the third day running. That's three days of constant observation. Three days of keeping a man in his sights and seeing little else except crosshairs pointed at centre mass. 

Sebastian read the mark's name in the file, but made a conscious effort to forget it again. Getting attached is a detriment in this line of work. That sort of thing might make you hesitate when the kill order comes. He knows the mark is in the import/export business and runs container ships between all major ports around the Mediterranean. Jim requested one or two of those containers be put aside for his personal use. Whether the mark agrees to the arrangement will determine whether Sebastian gets to kill him. 

The mark hasn't left his house since Jim contacted him. Jim has that effect on a lot of people. It makes Sebastian's job easier.

At this point Sebastian knows the mark better than he probably knows himself. He knows how long he showers, how he takes his coffee in the morning and how much gin he likes with his tonic. He knows which are his favourite pants and how often he adjusts himself.

Three days of constant observation, that also means three days of Sebastian lying on his stomach, shielded from the fierce Moroccan sun only by a flimsy piece of canvas. His cheek is pressed against his rifle, nose full of the scent of gun oil and his finger on the trigger. Next to his elbow a satellite phone which will give the signal to take the shot. 

Sebastian enjoys this kind of jobs. He doesn't enjoy the cramps pulling at his shoulders or the pounding headache that the constant squinting gives him. He doesn't like the heat, the thirst, the sand in his eyes or the bugs crawling up his trouser leg. But he loves how this work can make his brain shut up. 

To make the shot at this distance, he has to pull the trigger between heartbeats. If his heart beat at the moment the trigger is pulled, it would cause a minute distortion, which, after the bullet travels five hundred yards, would make it miss its mark by yards. Can't have that. So Sebastian counts his heart beats. He counts up to ten and starts over. One to ten and starts over. And starts over. And over and over. His brain is lulled by the repetition.

He sometimes takes beta blockers to slow his heart, especially if his mark travels. But this one hardly leaves the couch. Sebastian is a mountain runner. Even at an elevation of 2000 meters, his resting heart rate is at 55. Down here, a few meters above sea level, he has plenty of time to pull the trigger. 

The phone at his elbow starts ringing. By the time Sebastian hears the third note of the ringtone, the mark's brain stem is already scattered all over the coffee table. Sebastian picks up the phone and says: "Job done, boss." Then he dissembles his rifle, douses the canvas shelter and the phone with lighter fluid and tosses a match on it. The thick black smoke is visible all the way to Gibraltar, but he'll be long gone should anyone bother to check out a bonfire in the desert. 

He makes his way to Algeria along uncharted paths, crosses the border in the cover of night and makes for the nearest harbour city where he catches a ferry to Italy by hiding in one of the lifeboats. He goes ashore in Napoli where he steals a car. He drives exactly at speed limit while the sun rises. He arrives in Rome in the late afternoon and ditches the little Fiat in a car park where it'll be waiting for the police to find and the poor sod can get his ride back. 

Sebastian walks to the Coliseum and retrieves a hotel room swipe card from a dead drop. The hotel records will show he's been staying there for more than a week and his luggage is waiting for him in the wardrobe. 

It's after midnight when Sebastian gets to his room at La Posta Vecchia and he falls face first onto the bed. He's asleep before he can even think about taking his boots off. It's the first time he's seen a bed in days. 

In London Jim's laptop streams the footage from the camera he had installed in the room. It's been three days since the phone call and he hasn't heard from Sebastian since. A motion detector activates the camera and the secure uplink to London. 

Jim calls up the hotel and orders breakfast to be delivered to Sebastian's room in the morning. 

Sebastian awakes to the smell of coffee, eggs and freshly baked bread. He takes out his flashlight and shines the light into every corner, nook and cranny until he sees the faint flash of light reflected off the camera's lense. Sebastian flips off Jim via the internet before crushing the camera with the flashlight's metal casing. Then he sits down to eat. 

Once every last bit of food is gone, Sebastian takes off his clothes and stands under the shower for twenty minutes watching the grime of the past week wash away. The water is black with sand, sweat and soot and as he watches it swirl down the drain, he feels empty and stupid as if he's left half of himself in that fucking desert. The comedown from a job's never been easy for him to handle. 

Another few hours of sleep and a second shower later, Sebastian gets ready to go out. He's dressed in jeans, a white shirt and his favorite leather jacket. His first stop is a little cafe where he orders an espresso. When in Rome and all. Sebastian leans against the bar and knocks back the coffee in a single gulp. It is hot and bitter and hits the spot just right and Sebastian knows there's a clumsy metaphor for his life in there somewhere, but he'll cut the throat of anyone who'd point it out. He keeps an eye on the room via the polished chrome surface of the coffee machine. Two women at a table behind him give him the once over, then turn to each other and giggle. 

He's bursting for a fuck and a fight, preferably not in that order. That'd sort him right out and make him feel a bit more like himself again. 

Two hours later he gets his wish. He's in a bar and this guy took exception to the fact that Sebastian kept making eye contact with his girlfriend. Now he's lying bleeding next to some bins and his girlfriend is taking Sebastian home with her. Her name is Chiara with black hair and dark eyes and skin soft enough to sink your teeth into, which Sebastian fully intends to do. 

But before Sebastian can even get into the taxi, his phone rings. 

"Yes." It's Jim calling him.

Chiara is sitting in the back seat and Sebastian holds up a finger to let her know he needs a minute. He'll try to keep the call short because from where he's standing, he can see down her blouse and his cock stirs just thinking about those breasts. 

"What do you want, boss?" 

"Your little holiday is over, there's been some developments here in London."

"Holiday? It's not even been a day."

"And you're saying that as if it changed anything. How sweet."

Sebastian exhales defeated. "Alright, I'll be on the first flight out tomorrow."

"There's a car waiting for you around the corner. It'll take you to a private airfield."

"You track my phone?"

"Not just the phone. See you in four hours." Jim says and hangs up.

Sebastian walks over to the taxi. "Ci dispiace, tesoro." He apologizes to the girl, hands the driver some cash and adds: "Portarla a casa." Then he closes the car door.


	2. Ealaín An Bháis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian cuts short his holiday and flies back to see Jim
> 
> Warning: mentions killing animals

The two seater plane touches down and Sebastian is glad to be alive. They'd hit turbulence over the Alps and Sebastian had use his Glock to dissuade the pilot from an emergency landing. A violent death in a fiery wreckage is always preferable to being late for an appointment with Jim. 

At the airport Sebastian gets into the waiting car and punches the GPS coordinates Jim texted into the satnav. Looking at his destination on the map, Sebastian realises he's not going into London, but to Jim's country house. Soon he pulls the car into the driveway and passes the heavy gate proclaiming the house's new name: Ealaín An Bháis. 

Jim acquired the estate a few years ago from the down on his luck 11th Earl of who gives a fuck. The house had been on the market for years at ever decreasing asking price. It's the sort of property that is hard to shift these days, building regulations for listed buildings being what they are. The main house is centuries old and sagging at the foundations. The thick walls were so damp that a patch of moss grew on the north wall of the library. 

In the beginning it was unfit for human habitation. There had been barely any modernisation since Queen Vic's time. The electricity cut out every two hours and the water was brown with rust every morning. 

Jim's lawyers soon took care of problem of building regulations through a mix of paperwork, bribery and some light blackmail. 

Since the extensive renovations Jim had ordered, the house had all the mod cons, including and especially one of the fastest wifi connections in the country and an observations room MI5 would be proud to call their own.

Initially Jim intended to use the building as a safe house, occasional hostage storage and weekend getaway, but as the house became more comfortable he and Sebastian found themselves spending increasing amounts of time there. It's easier to stay off the Holmes brothers radar outside of London. Jim is meant to be dead after all.

The regular staff had been let go and Jim replaced them with a small crew of underlings who had been vetted for loyalty and lack of ambition. Foot soldiers through and through. Most of them were indeed former soldiers and war vets who hadn't made the transition to civilian life. They worked, ate and especially drank together, this band of dysfunctional brothers. They had converted the stables into a sort if barracks and lived there quite happily. They were the lost boys to Jim's Peter Pan. Sebastian didn't want to think about what that made him. 

Sebastian was not part of their group, both by virtue of rank within the organisation and because he lived in the main house. His rooms were across the hall from Jim's. It made sense for Jim to keep the bodyguard close.

Sebastian parks the car and goes inside looking for Jim. He finds him in his office. 

"What's the crisis, boss?"

Jim barely looks up from the document he is reading. 

"Oh, that. It's been taken care of."

"I was in fucking Italy." Sebastian shouts incredulously. 

"Careful now." Jim answers in his singsong voice. Sebastian knows to tread lightly now. 

"Anything else you need done, boss?"

"Not right now, thank you. Find something to occupy yourself. Daddy's busy." 

Sebastian leaves Jim's office and closes the door behind him. The memory of Chiara's willing face flashes across his mind and he punches the wall in frustration. The knuckle of his middle finger scrapes open on the rough plaster and leaves a red mark. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes it away. 

He at least wants to know what was so important he had to leave a girl in a taxi and scramble back. 

But first Sebastian checks in with the guards, making sure the procedures he put in place are being adhered to. Everything is as it should be. 

Next he collects the security tapes for the past week and fast forwards through them. Someone brings him dinner and he wolfs down a bowl of stew with his eyes glued to the monitors. Sebastian's looking for anything out of the ordinary, any visitors or deliveries that might tip him off to what Jim's been up to yesterday. 

Around midnight he gives up defeated and goes to sleep. He should have known he'd never find out about any of Jim's projects unless Jim wanted him to know. Still, he tried. As long as he tries, he tells himself, as long as Jim hasn't managed to beat that out of him, he's still a wolf and not a lapdog. 

Sebastian wakes up at six in the morning and goes for a run. The sun has just started to rise and the fog hangs low on the fields. Soon his trouser legs are dark with dew up to the shins. The only sounds are bird song and his own breathing, steady and measured despite the exertion. 

Having taken a shower and breakfast, Sebastian has another three hours before Jim will be up. He goes down to the gun room to get his newest toy, a Snaiperskaya Vintovka Dragunova Russian sniper riffle. The gun room had initially been used for the Earl's hunting parties, but Jim gave Sebastian free range to convert it to his own needs. Two walls are now covered in fully stocked gun racks which hold the perfect weapon for any target from pheasant to small aircrafts. 

After dissembling, cleaning and reassembling the rifle, Sebastian takes the SVD up to the roof. He's never used it before. He's quite excited. 

Sebastian sets up on the northeastern corner of the roofs, where he has a view of the fountain in the main lawn on one side and a woodland on the other. He lines up the scope with the muzzle. The crosshair markings are thicker than he likes. The butt is about half an inch too wide to be entirely comfortable, but the stock is the perfect length for his arm. He'll file down the butt should he ever decide to use it on a job. 

Now for the main attraction. Sebastian aims at some leaves on a tree about 300 meters away. The trigger is smooth and the bullet releases without too much kick back. The shot misses by almost half a meter. The rifle pulls to the left. Sebastian adjusts the scope to counteract. He's just searching for a new target when a hare breaks out of the hedge on the lawn and runs towards the wood. 

Sebastian gets the hare in his scope, follows the movements until he gets a feel for them and then pulls the trigger. The bullet hits the ground just in front of the hare, causing a small explosion of grass and earth and the panicked hare veers off and disappears between the trees. 

"Wascally wabbit." Sebastian hears Jim say from behind his right shoulder.

Sebastian had not noticed Jim join him on the roof. He is worried his abilities might be in decline.

"What are you doing up here?" Sebastian askes.

"Checking on the troupes."  
Jim answeres.

"Why?"

"Reasons."

Sebastian wants to punch the cryptic fuckery right out of him, but instead he turns around to focus on his gun again and shoots a blackbird down mid flight. It lands on the grass below and two of the guard dog dobermans are on it within seconds.

Jim whistles approvingly. 

"Carry on, soldier."


	3. Whitehall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has a treat for Sebastian. Sebastian can't deal with Jim at all. 
> 
> Warning: description of torture.

Jim is standing in Sebastian’s bedroom. It is three in the morning and the sniper is asleep. Jim needs him awake, so he picks a bottle of whiskey off the shelf and hurls it at the wall above Sebastian’s head. 

Whiskey and shattered glass rain down onto the bed and Sebastian sits bolt upright, blinking alcohol out of his eyes. 

“Morning, sunshine.” Jim greets him. 

“U-huh.” Sebastian manages while he picks a shard of glass out of his shoulder. 

“I have a treat for you.” Jim seems excited, which sends a shiver down Sebastian’s spine. “Be downstairs in twenty minutes.” 

Sebastian finds a bit of duvet cover that is not soaked in whiskey and blots the blood off his skin. Jim is already walking out of the door. From the hallway he can hear him add: “Bring your toys.”

That announcement has Sebastian out of bed within seconds. He shakes bits of glass out of his hair and throws on some clothes. Then he sets about choosing his toys. He selects -among other items- rope, knives, pliers, razor wire and a gun, also a few single use syringes, a scalpel and a bone saw. The advancements in medical science have opened up whole new vistas for people in his line of work. He carefully checks every piece and then stashes them in a black duffel bag. By the time he’s done packing he’s got a semi on. 

Jim is already in the car when Sebastian gets downstairs. Jack, one of the Lost Boys, is driving, so Sebastian gets in the back with Jim. 

“Chelsea Embankment, please, driver.” Jim directs Jack, who whistles between his teeth. Guys like Jack don’t go to those neighbourhoods of London very often. Not unless they are delivering a telly. Or stealing one. 

Sebastian assumes Jim set his sights a little higher than that. 

“We’re picking up a Mr. George Cooper and we’re taking him on a little outing.” Jim’s eyes scan a file on his lap. 

“This will come as a surprise to the man.” Sebastian guesses. 

“Indeed. He is currently asleep on the second floor of his house.”

“Securi-“

“Codes.” Jim hands him a piece of card with a 16 digit code and the security company’s logo in the bottom right corner. 

“He has a wife?”

“How do you know?” 

“They always do.” Sebastian shrugs. 

“I don’t mind how you deal with her.” Jim says and adds: “Just don’t bring her.”

“Works for me.” Sebastian agrees and this concludes the conversation. They drive the rest of the way through night time London in silence.

Jack turns off the car’s head lights as they turn into the street and the car rolls to a silent stop in front of the Cooper residence. God bless electric cars. 

Sebastian grabs a few things from his bag and gets out of the car. He walks around the house, avoiding the floodlights above the entrance and with gloved hands he cracks the lock on the French windows in the back. After dealing with the security system he heads upstairs. 

There’s thick carpeting everywhere to muffle his footsteps and no locked doors anywhere inside the house. It’s like these people want to get abducted. 

Sebastian pauses on the second floor landing to look at some family photos on the wall. They show the Mr. and Mrs. in their natural habitat: skiing in St. Moritz, sunbathing on a Caribbean beach and holding hands in front of the Taj Mahal. Sebastian notices two things: First of all, none of the pictures are more than three years old and two, the wife is a stunner. She’s just beautiful. 

Standing next to her, George smiles the smile of a man who never had to fight for anything. He’s a balding, middle-aged “right sort of chap” enjoying the spoils of a life he did nothing deserve, but that accident of birth awarded him anyways. As a former Eton boy on a scholarship, Sebastian has nothing but contempt for his kind. 

Sebastian finds the bedroom and the two of them asleep. He walks to her side of the bed. On her nightstand he finds a silver cigarette case. When he opens it he finds five cigarettes and about half a gram of cocaine wrapped in clear plastic. The inscription on the back reads: To Gabrielle. With devotion. Oscar.”

That’s not your husband’s name, naughty girl. Sebastian puts the case in his pocket. 

He pulls a zip lock bag out of his jacket. Inside is a cotton rag soaked in chloroform. Carrying the item pre-prepared takes a lot of the hassle out. 

Just as Sebastian leans over Gabrielle her eyes open and after a moment of sleepy confusion she is panicking. But it’s too late. Sebastian is on her, holding the rag over her mouth and nose, using his legs and free arm to hold her still. Flailing might wake her husband. 

They lock eyes and Sebastian tries to look as calm and reassuring as he can for a balaclava wearing stranger in her bedroom. 

Gabrielle is unconscious. Sebastian pulls the covers up around her shoulders and tucks a strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes behind her ear. 

He props a card against the lamp on the nightstand. The printed message reads: “Our little secret. If not, we will find you.” 

Jim gave him two hundred of these cards as a gift three years ago when they began working together. He’s already starting to run a little low. 

Now to business. Sebastian wakes George up by whacking his temple with the butt of his gun. 

George howls awake and buries his aching head in the pillow. He has not even realized someone’s in the room. 

Sebastian coughs politely. 

“Who? What?” George stammers and stares bug eyed at the gun Sebastian is pointing at him. 

“Jim Moriarty requests the pleasure of your company.” Sebastian announces. 

At the mention of Jim’s name, George pales and starts pleading with Sebastian: “I’ll give you anything. I have money, just don’t- just please don’t.”

“Get out of bed.” Sebastian takes a step back to give George room to follow his instruction. 

But he does not. Instead he holds a pillow in front of his chest as if that’d do him any good and starts crying. 

“Jesus fucking Christ. Don’t be such a cunt about it.” Sebastian is fast coming to the end of his patience. George dissolves further and further into whining self-pity and the whole time he did not even spare so much as a sideways glance for his wife. Charmer. 

Sebastian takes out a syringe full of sedative and jabs it into his arm. Enough to calm him down, but not quite enough to knock him out. Then he grabs George by the shoulder, hauls him out of bed and marches him down the stairs. Even in his addled state George made a few attempts at resistance by grabbing at the banister, but Sebastian just gives him another whack with his gun and soon they’re at the front door. 

Sebastian wraps a coat around George who is wearing light blue pyjamas. 

Jack is waiting outside by the car with the trunk open. Together they’ve got George stashed away in no time. They check the windows of neighbouring houses for signs of activity, but it seems the only witness is a fox who is far more interested in the bins than Mr. Cooper’s fate. 

Jim is in the backseat listening to music. When Sebastian and Jack get back in the car, he takes out an ear bud. 

“How did it go?” he asks. 

“All according to plan, boss.” Sebastian says with some pride in his voice. 

“Goody, goody gumdrops. Jack? Take us to 4532.”

Scheme 4532 was the codename for a network of tunnels that the British government built underneath Whitehall during WWII. In the intervening years the tunnel plans were lost and the project forgotten about by all but Jim Moriarty. In fact, Sebastian suspects Jim may have helped the forgetting process along. 

“Acquaint yourself with this.” Jim hands Sebastian a file. The goal of this morning’s jaunt into London is to find out from Mr. Cooper the particulars of an arms deal his company negotiated. 

They cross Westminster Bridge and take a right onto Victoria Embankment. Jack parks the car in a side street. The buildings around them house offices and minor government departments. It’s deserted this early in the morning and will be for at least another two hours. 

Sebastian grabs his bag of toys and then he and Jack hoist the semi-conscious George out of the trunk. They walk him down the road between them, each with an arm around him to keep him steady. Jim trails behind them texting on his mobile as he walks. Back on Victoria Embankment they look to anyone passing them like three friends helping a drunk mate home. 

Down by the river they find the manhole cover that does not show up on any Thames Water Authority plans. There’s little to shield them from onlookers here, so they work as quickly as possible. Jack kneels down as if to tie his shoe and removes the cover. Narrow concrete stairs lead down into the darkness. Sebastian shoves George down with little care, making him fall down the steps and he lies in a heap on a landing three meters below. Sebastian goes second and Jim follows, while Jack remains above to stand guard. 

Jack replaces the cover and they are in complete darkness. Sebastian takes out two torches and hands one to Jim. Reinforced concrete surrounds them. The street is just a few meters above them, but there’s no noise coming through from the outside world. The air is stuffy and stale, but it is surprisingly clean down here. No rats or other vermin ever found their way into his maze. There’s nothing here for them. 

The three men descend another two flights of stairs. When George proves obstinate, Sebastian unceremoniously kicks him in the back. George started crying again. He’s stopped pleading with them, but he’s limping and moans with pain at every step. 

They’ve reached the first level of actual tunnels. Hallways with rooms on either side stretch out left and right so far that Sebastian’s torch can’t find where they end. 

“The usual?” Sebastian asks which room Jim wants to use. 

“Might as well.” Jim answers and takes out his gun and points it at George while Sebastian opens the door to the first room on their right. The hinges on the steel door have not been oiled in decades and Sebastian has to brace his foot against the doorframe to work up the strength to get it open. Every time Sebastian comes down here he thinks he should really bring some oil next time. The door finally budges with a screech that echoes down the hallway. 

“Go on then.” Jim says to George who moves as if his muscles don’t work anymore. He has the stiff, angular gait of someone who has to convince his extremities to move despite himself. It’s a walk that Sebastian has seen on men on their way to face a firing squad, which… yeah. Fair enough. 

Except an execution is a matter of seconds and this won’t be. Not if Sebastian has any say in it. He’s in need of a punching bag and George will do nicely. 

The beams of their torches light up the room. It was intended to be used as an office of some sort and the furniture is of the austere, uncomfortable pressed wood kind. Sebastian marches George over to one of the chairs and busies himself with tying George’s arms behind his back and his feet to the chair legs. Jim meanwhile stands on a stool and hangs his torch from a hook in the ceiling. 

Once George is secured, Sebastian sets his duffle bag on the desk and unpacks. His tools lie next to each other and he positions his torch so the polished blades reflect the light back in George’s direction. 

Jim retreats into the darkness of the far corner, but Sebastian knows he’s watching and he’ll give him a show. 

Sebastian leans against the desk and does a few tricks with his balisong. For a few moments the only sound in the room is the rhythmic clicking of metal on metal. 

“So, Mr. Cooper.” Sebastian starts.

George squeaks and looks at his own knees. 

“All we need from you today is the real identity of the individual or organization that is buying all those FDHS rockets.”

George Cooper cuts an almost comically pathetic figure sitting there in his pyjamas with tears dripping down his cheeks. Sebastian worries he’ll spill the beans before Sebastian gets to have his fun. But George does not disappoint. 

He shakes his head. 

Sebastian smiles, puts down the balisong and picks up a length of rope. 

He stands in front of George and starts tying knots in the rope, one every two or three inches. George looks confused. Apparently he’s a novice to physical violence. Sebastian loves it when he gets to be somebody’s first. 

“Whom are you selling to?”

George keens but shakes his head.

Hand raised behind him, Sebastian whips George with knotted rope across the chest twice in quick succession. He lets out a scream and slumps forward. He’s full on crying, twisting and writhing in his seat. Sebastian lets him bawl for a moment. 

“George, this is what pain feels like. Would you like me to show you again?”

“No. No. Please no.” George howls. 

“So tell me what I want to know.”

“I can’t.”

Sebastian whips George again, across the belly this time and Sebastian is surprised how much the sound resembles a fist jabbing a sandbag. Except sandbags don’t scream. 

They don’t bleed either, unlike George, whose blood is seeping through his shirt every place a knot landed. He’s sprung a lot of leaks in the last two minutes. 

Sebastian picks up a scalpel and runs it down George’s pyjama shirtfront, cutting off the buttons as he goes. He moves the fabric with the tip of his scalpel with just enough pressure on the skin to cause narrow pink welts and a hiss from George. 

“Come on. Look at you. Just talk, will you?” 

“I c-c-c-can’t.” Comes the answer stuttered between sobs. 

Sebastian’s gloved hand is suddenly around his throat, tilting the face up and squeezing just enough to make breathing difficult. George sees Sebastian’s fist -still holding the scalpel- pull back, hover for a moment and then shoot forwards and connect with his eye socket. George’s cheekbone is broken and the scalpel cut a gash into his nostril. 

That face is a mess of pounding, pulsing pain. 

“What are you scared of, George? What can they do to you that I have not done already?”

George wants to speak, wants to explain that they have his mother, but the only noise he’s able to make are unintelligible grunts. 

Sebastian moves away again. He’s putting on steel mesh gloves, the kind butchers use to protect their hands from cleavers. Then he picks up a coil of razor wire. 

He wraps the wire around George once, twice and a third time and holds the ends in his hand. George is wheezing, bleeding and drifting in and out of consciousness. Sebastian tugs at the wire and it pulls closer around him, cutting into the flesh on his arms, back and chest. 

“Do I have your full attention, George?”

He nods. 

“I am going to tell you what’s about to happen, George.” Sebastian’s boot nudges George’s thighs apart and settles against the edge of the seat. “I’m going to give you exactly thirty seconds to answer my question. If you do not, I will tip over your seat and you’ll hit the floor in two pieces.” He tightens the wire again to emphasize his point. 

Sebastian knows the wire won’t cut a body in two, but the state that George is in he’d believe anything Sebastian tells him. 

“So, for the last time, who did you-“ 

“Baldassari.” Jim’s interrupts. 

George is stunned for a moment and then nods slowly. 

“What the fuck?” In three strides Sebastian stands in front of Jim, pushing him against the wall. 

“Why the fuck are you making me do this when you know already?” Sebastian hisses with his face only inches from Jim’s. 

“From where I’m standing it looked like you were having fun, tiger.” Jim’s voice is calm, almost bored. “I’m hungry. Wrap this up and get me a fry up, will you?”

Jim looks up at Sebastian and he could swear Jim is grinding his hips against him. 

Sebastian’s body, high on adrenaline and sleep deprivation, reacts almost violently to the stimulation, but his mind can’t deal with this shit, not right now, not when the air is thick with the scent of blood and his boss is putting the moves on him in a way that fucks with everything that Sebastian holds sacred about chain of command and duty and service and fuck off, Jim. Just fuck right off. 

Sebastian turns to see George who is looking at them out of his one good eye. He walks over there and cuts George’s throat. 

While Mr. George Cooper splutters his way into the afterlife, Sebastian packs up his things. 

Jim already grabbed a torch and is heading up the stairs. When Sebastian catches up with him, Jim is already climbing back up to street level. 

Jack greets them with a grin. He’s wearing a garish red and blue vest with a Thames Cruise logo patch on the back and holds a stack of flyers. 

“What’s this?” Jim asks laughing. 

“You were gone so long and I didn’t want to get done for loitering.” Jack holds out one of the flyers. “They dock just down the road. Fifteen quid for two hours round trip. Can’t say fairer than that.” 

Sebastian clears his throat. “You need to take the trash out.”

“Recycling or landfill?” Jack asks, suddenly all business.

“Recycling. Scrap metal.”

“Yes, sir.” Jack nods and takes out his mobile to call in reinforcements. 

Sebastian and Jim walk back to the car. Jim’s texting and Sebastian is just trying not to think. At all. About anything. 

On the way back to the house they stop at a greasy spoon and Sebastian gets take away for the both of them. Jim’s sitting on the back seat eating his Full English with chips, while Sebastian’s beans on toast with chips sits on the seat next to him, getting cold while he drives them both home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was a scheme 3245, which has been lost (well, at least according to Wikipedia.) 
> 
> All names are taken from books on my shelf. The people in this story have nothing at all to do with the authors of those books, who are all very nice people I'm sure and have nothing whatsoever to do with shady arms deals.


	4. Chelsea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian manages to turn a yes into a no. Meanwhile some plot.
> 
> Warning: consent issues and drug use

"Workers discovered the wreck of a car at the bottom of Penrhyn Slate Quarry early on Monday morning. A body, which has since been identified as George Cooper, was found in the driver's seat. The medical examiner found high concentrations of alcohol and anti-depressants in his blood."

Jack and the boys did fine work. 

Sebastian marks the article with a small cross by the headline and leaves the paper on the kitchen table for Jim to find. 

The photo accompanying the obituary shows Cooper's wife Gabrielle, dressed immaculately in black Versace, while giving evidence at the inquiry in front of the magistrate. She gave a statement in which she spoke very movingly of her husband's long struggle with depression (which never actually happened), his addiction to alcohol and barbiturates (equally ludicrous) and his final days in which he seemed withdrawn and apathetic (not really). She even squeezed out a few tears. It was a consummate performance and had he been there, Sebastian isn't sure he could have stopped himself from giving a standing ovation. 

The death was ruled an accident and the body released to the funeral home. The cremation followed by a wake at the Cooper's home is taking place today. 

Sebastian knows he should stay away. He knows for certain that attending this funeral is the absolutely last thing he should be doing. But it's his day off and what the fuck else is he going to do? Sit on his bed and crack one out? Better to cause a moderate amount of mayhem.

He picks out his best black suit and tie and leaves his gun in his desk. 

The parking lot outside the crematorium is half empty. For a rich guy George didn't have a lot of friends. Sebastian sits in a row by himself in the back and watches the Gabrielle for most of the ceremony. A few people speak about the deceased. They elevate boring, uninspired, unloved George posthumously into an adventurer, artist and leader of men. Gabrielle remains seated in the front row. 

Twenty minutes later the grieving guests shuffle past the coffin on the catafalque. When it's his turn, Sebastian takes a moment to reflect on their time together. He comes to the conclusion that while razor wire is visually arresting, it's not worth the damage to the lining of his bag. 

As the curtains are drawn around the coffin, Sebastian expresses his condolences to Gabrielle. If she recognizes him, she shows no sign of it. 

The crowd at the wake is a mix of family and anyone who could not think of a good enough excuse to leave. Sebastian mills around at the edge of the small crowd in the Cooper's living room. He's nursing a glass of dry white. Among the mix of work colleagues, old school mates and in laws nobody picks Sebastian out for a guy who has no business being there. 

"Very sad, isn't it?" The vicar approaches Sebastian. 

"Very." He replies and immediately looks for a way out of this conversation. 

He necks the content of his glass and waves the empty in front of the vicar's face with an apologetic shrug. He'll gladly take on criminals, terrorists and wild animals, but COE makes him run every time. 

In the hallway on his way to the kitchen, Sebastian bumps into Gabrielle. 

“Sorry, I…” Gabrielle starts, but when she looks at him, really sees those eyes, realization his her. She looks around if anyone is watching them and pulls Sebastian into the guest bathroom. 

“What’s this then?” Sebastian asks with a smile. He’s not a man unaccustomed to women luring him into secluded spots. 

Gabrielle’s eyes are wide and her breathing’s shallow. She’s gripping Sebastian’s jacket so hard her knuckles turn white and Sebastian worries about the stitching. 

“I didn’t say anything.” She whispers. 

“I know.”

“When the police told me about the pills and the… I thought it was what you wanted.”

“It was.” Sebastian traces a finger along her jaw and cups her face. “Admirably done.”

Gabrielle’s confusion turns to anger. She lets go of Sebastian and steps back as far as she can. In the small room they are still less than an arm’s length from each other. 

“What more does Moriarty want?”

“I’m not here for him.” Sebastian steps closer to her and Gabrielle is trapped between his body and the wall. He leans in and she stiffens. He waits a few seconds, lets her smell his cologne, feel the heat of his body, before he whispers: “I’ll go if you want me to.” So close to her ear he’s sure she can feel his breath on her neck. 

Sebastian knows he’s got something, some “animal magnetism” or whatever they say in those books for teenage girls and frustrated housewives who fantasise about bad boys. He’s never had any trouble picking up women – or men, or both- even back at school when he and his classmates snuck out on weekends to go to the pub. He’d invariably leave them behind for something better than cheap bitter and adolescent posturing. 

When Gabrielle does not push him away, Sebastian reaches behind himself to lock the bathroom door. 

“I have a present for you.” Sebastian pulls the cigarette case he took from her nightstand the night he came for George. 

“I wondered where that got to.” Gabrielle says a bit more relaxed. 

Sebastian opens the case and takes out the wrapper of cocaine with a conspiratorial grin. 

“Do you mind sharing with me?” He asks and Gabrielle is already taking a mirror out of a drawer under the sink. 

She reaches around him and takes his wallet out of his back pocket. He lets her open it, lets her skim over the contents while pretending to look for the credit card. There’s nothing compromising for her to find, only a bit of cash, a few coffee loyalty cards and a company credit card from one of Jim’s shell corporations. 

With the card she cuts up two lines for them. Sebastian takes off his jacket and hangs it on a hook on the door while Gabrielle sniffs her line through a rolled up twenty. She hands the makeshift straw to Sebastian, who inhales deeply. The cocaine’s bitter sting spreads from his nose down the back of his throat. It’s good stuff. Not pure by a long shot, but as close as you’re likely to get in London. 

Gabrielle leans against the wall with her eyes closed. “I needed that.” She sighs contently and wipes her nose. 

Sebastian decides it’s time to get this show on the road, so he traces a hand up between her thighs and she shifts her legs further apart. She’s wearing stockings and Sebastian lets out an appreciative growl. He’s rubbing her clit through her panties and kissing her neck. 

She unbuttons his shirt and her hands explore his torso. She feels skin and muscle and scars under her fingertips and when Sebastian pushes her panties aside to enter her with one finger she adds four parallel lines of nail scratches to the mosaic on his skin. 

“Fuck.” She inhales and leans her forehead against his shoulder. Sebastian adds a second finger and starts slowly fucking her. 

“Condom?” Sebastian asks. 

“Top shelf.” Gabrielle waves a distracted hand in the general direction of the cabinet. Sebastian rummages around on the shelf without taking his hand from between her legs. Gabrielle is riding his fingers with shallow undulations of her hips. 

He finds the condoms finally in a box of tampons and is once again quite impressed with this woman’s sneaky fucking ways. Maybe he should get her CV for Jim. 

He strokes his cock a few times until he’s fully hard, but before he puts on the condom, Sebastian runs his thumb through the dusting of cocaine that’s left on the mirror and rubs it into the skin of his cock to numb himself up a little. It’s been a while for him and the lady’s done good work; she deserves top service. 

Sebastian is so fucking ready for this to happen. He hopes she’s not fragile. Sebastian withdraws his hand from between her legs and hooks his arm under one of her legs and pulls it up for better access. 

His teeth against her collarbone, he wants to bite, wants to mark, but he knows bite marks at a wake are a bit déclassé to say the least. 

“After this will you get rid of her?” 

Sebastian hears the words, but for the life of him he can’t make out their meaning. 

“What?”

“The old lady?” Gabrielle’s breathy voice replies and she seems to think that that is an explanation. 

“You’re not making sense, love.”

“George’s mother.” She’s annoyed now. “Will you make her disappear for good?”

When he does not answer her, Gabrielle pushes him away. Sebastian staggers backwards with his trousers around his knees. 

“What the fuck kind of game are you playing?” She hisses at him before pulling down her skirt, checking her hair in the mirror and exiting the bathroom with more dignity than anyone should be able to muster in this situation. 

Sebastian takes a minute to calm down, watches his hard on flag and with it his mood. With an ear against the door he waits until the hallway is empty and slinks out of the house feeling still quite horny, a bit on edge and very confused. 

Back at the house Sebastian finds Jim in the conservatory. He’s sitting on the sofa with his feet on the coffee table doing the cryptic crossword. 

“Boss?”

“What is it?” Jim taps the newspaper with his pen as if that might make a particularly stubborn, horticulture related clue reveal itself. 

“George Cooper’s mother.”

“What about her?”

“Gabrielle Cooper is under the impression we’re holding her with a view to killing her.”

Jim considers for a moment, then throws his head back and lets out a guttural “Fuck.”

He storms up the stairs to his office with Sebastian following behind. 

Jim is on his laptop typing furiously and singing a self-composed song under his breath, the lyrics to which consist mainly of the words “fuck” and “kill”. 

Sebastian leans against the door frame, wondering how Jim in his current mood might react if Sebastian poured himself a whiskey from the decanter on Jim’s desk. The coke still has him feeling a bit wired and he could use a settler. 

Before he can make a decision, Jim slams his laptop shut. 

“We’re fucking going to fucking Italy.”

“Sure, boss. Why?”

“Someone’s been trading on my name.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know whether "inquiries in front of the magistrate" are still a thing, but it's such a classic murder mystery trope that I could not resist.


End file.
